Retrouvailles
by elusivesilvercrystal
Summary: During the Battle of the Seven Potters, Fleur's life is spared by someone unexpected, forcing her to reflect on how she could have possibly wound up on the other side of the war. But not everything, or everyone, is as it seems... WARNING: INFREQUENT POSTINGS AHEAD.


**A/N: This SS/FD scene has been floating around in my brain for ages. I have too many stories to write, but I wanted to put this here to see if you guys would like it. Please, any feedback is welcome. Also, if anyone has any suggestions for the direction of the rest of the story, that would be welcome, too. For now, I only have a rough outline. This is set in DH, but the next few chapters are going to go all the way back to OoTP and HBP. Eventually, it will catch up to this point again. I have no idea what direction it will take after it catches up to itself. Enjoy.**

 **Also, die-hard FD/BW fans, please don't hate me. I love them just as much as anyone else.**

Chapter One

"Are you alright, my love?"

William Weasley looked at her with such adoration and emotion, it made Fleur slightly uncomfortable. It was not that she did not care for him, of course, because she did, deeply. He was good and he was kind and he was very, very handsome. Neither was it that his concern did not humble her, because it did, significantly. She knew she was unworthy of it. And as much as she appreciated his stalwart passion for her, even despite the fact that she was trapped in another person's body, when she looked back at him, she felt nothing but guilt.

"I am fine," she lied, pretending to agonize over her lack of breasts and thus, avoiding having to look into his face.

It was easy to lie to him. Her Veela charms made it so… not that she meant to use them on him, but she couldn't help it.

"Hey."

She closed her eyes when his fingers brushed under her chin, tilting her face towards his. When she opened them, and saw his blue-as-the-sky eyes, her heart sunk low in her chest with disappointment. For a second, she'd been elsewhere… a long lost memory, or at least one she did not want to remember. And for a second, she'd thought—

But it wasn't true. This was the present, not the past. She knew that because William's eyes weren't deep, nor black, nor any color which she could imagine drowning in for the rest of her life.

They weren't _his_ , essentially.

"I'm so hideous," she muttered, using her disgust as an opportunity to break his gaze again.

Bill lifted another hand and cupped both of her cheeks, then offered, without a drop of malice, "You don't have to do this, Fleur."

In response, her Veela fury bubbled. The brewing fire in her heart must have shown through even the strange face she wore, Harry's face, because the scars on his turned taut with a frown.

"I do not forget so easily why I am here," she reminded him, shuffling uncomfortably in the ratty, overly large clothes.

Bill should know better than to say such a thing to her. Just because she wasn't a member of his family, or because she hadn't lost a loved one to the war ( _yet_ , she reminded herself—there were so many who were in peril), did not mean she did not have a stake in it. She was not a victim of "true loss, per say, but that did not mean that she didn't want revenge for what had been done to _him_ , to his beautiful face, or what had been done to his family. To many families.

After all, she'd been there when they had attacked Hogwarts—and when Cedric had died. She had seen what Voldemort was capable of in the years since his return. And she knew what would happen should he rise to true power.

If she didn't stand against him, who would?

"I didn't mean it like that," he muttered teasingly, tugging on the tips of her shaggy black bangs, to which she huffed and swatted him away, "And you know it."

How could he still find her attractive when she was in this ridiculous body?

"I have made up my mind—zer will be no more talk of zees."

His blue eyes burned for her; he was proud of who she was. Proud to call her his. If only he knew that she wasn't, not really. In face, perhaps, but not in body, or soul, or heart.

"Alright, folks," Mad-Eye instructed from behind her, "It's time!"

And so it was. The party departed slowly from the Muggle house, gathering their respective vehicles. In Fleur and Bill's case, it was a thestral: the easiest form of flight of them all… but at the sight of it, she felt her stomach twist painfully, and not because it was gruesome, but because she was... well, scared.

 _Be calm, Fleur. You've flown a million times before. You've flown since you were three._

It was absolutely ridiculous: she had never really been afraid of heights—in fact, she couldn't truly pinpoint anything she was truly afraid of. She worried over the senseless loss of friends and family members, but what witch in this day and age didn't? She was anxious about being so far from her family, but had faith that they would be well without her. And besides the understandable concern for her mother, father, sister, and grandmother, for Bill and his family, as horrible as they were, in the face of all this evil, she would still consider herself brave… fearless, even.

On more than one occasion in her life, she'd admired herself for the trait: during her schooling at Beauxbatons, when she had endured enough adversity to prepare her for even the heartless judgement of Molly Weasley and her harpy-devil of a daughter, it had driven her to excellence. Bravery had been hard-won during the Triwizard Tournament, when she'd literally fought for her life, but she'd had it and used it to her advantage at every turn… and not a year ago, she had bravely decided to uproot her entire life to emigrate to Britain, not for herself, but because it was the right thing to do (well, mostly; she really did want to improve her English).

A normal witch would have agonized over the decision, especially considering the political climate. Fleur, however, did not hesitate to take Madame Maxime up on her suggestion that she consider "improving her English"—in so many words, asking her if she would join a fight that wasn't France's, but would become theirs if they sat idly by.

If anyone had learned their lesson about Grindelwald, was it not France? _Apparently not_ , she mused—she was the only French operative, that she knew of, that had joined the Order. But that was neither here nor there.

"Whatever happens… I love you," she heard William murmur in her ear as she climbed onto the thestral in front of him.

" _Non,_ " she insisted, shuddering, "Speak no more of zees until I am myself again."

William laughed. It was a handsome sound. It echoed in her brain as the thestral whinnied, then shot up, up, and joined the others in flight.

·

She could hear someone scream, and there were flashes of lights as spells collided against one another. The Muggles would think they were fireworks and gaze up at them in wonder, but for her, they were the signals of war.

They were under attack.

"How did they know?"

Fleur's question died on the wind. She, like the others, knew that they had been betrayed. By who, she had no idea, although there was only one who came to mind—

"Fleur, look away."

"Bill!" She shouted when he steered the thestral left, towards the others, forcing her to look ahead.

"Fleur—"

" _AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

She flinched at the sound of the killing curse, and leaned forward, clutching to Bill, burying her face in his back. Every inch of her felt cold, and desperate.

"Bill?"

Was he—

"Mundungus—he… he just—that leech! _ACCIO_ broom!"

Bill let out an angry shout and suddenly turned around to face her, "Go after Remus! Go, Fleur."

"William, what are you—"

He kissed her suddenly—it was deep, desperate, lasting. And then he struggled, swinging one leg up and then jumped. She shrieked when he did, uncertain. Her half-black, half-blonde hair was whipping around her, having grown as they fled, tailing after Moody and Mundungus. Unfortunately, the Polyjuice was wearing off and it was incapacitating her. She felt queasy, and overwhelmed.

Her husband-to-be turned around and sent a stinging hex at the thestral, which caused it to buck and surge away from him.

It took all she had not to fall from it. Eventually, it had flown far enough away, that it steadied… she turned, and when she saw where Bill was headed, her heart suddenly flew into her throat.

Lord Voldemort spun around as Bill cut him off in his pursuit of Hagrid and Harry. It was surreal—perhaps she was imagining it—but she watched as he floated without use of a broom. Then he cast a curse—the very same curse that had killed Alastor Moody and tossed him from the broom which Bill now rode. Bill managed to dodge it, but only barely.

" _Tournez-vous, bête_!" She tried to urge the thestral to go back, but it kept speeding away. Unfortunately, she couldn't focus on Bill and the dark lord, as there were two Death Eaters coming at her from the right. She cursed and surged upward, hoping to gain altitude enough to see.

Bill sent spell after spell after the dark lord, desperate. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to buy the others time—buy Harry time. Buy his brothers and Hermione time; Lupin and Tonks, too. He was delaying the dark lord... and he was going to die.

The thestral bucked against her when she tried to urge it forward. She pleaded with the damned thing, but it wasn't listening. With a glance over her shoulder, she realized that the Death Eaters were nearly upon her.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The spell echoed over the wind.

"NO!"

All she saw was a flash of green light and then a speck of a body, falling, falling…

Then she felt a hex at her back and she slipped to the side. She tried to cling to the thestral's bony body, but…

Something hit her, and she dropped from the beast, flung from its back by a knock-back jinx. Her fingers grasped at the empty air, but it seemed that fate would have her following in Bill's footsteps, despite his efforts to protect her. It was a great irony, wasn't it? To have been unable to help him, or grant his last wish in death...

Gravity overcame her and she was falling, falling, following her lover to the ground.

"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"

She gasped as the spell took hold of her, stopping her so forcefully that it turned the world black.

·

"It seems your intelligence was sound, Severus... I do believe apologies are well overdue."

Dark eyes fixed to the floor, and the dark wizard hidden beneath robes and mask was graciously silent.

The dark lord moved on from him to stand before another, "Bellatrix—what have you to say to Severus?"

"My lord, I hardly think—"

" _Crucio_!"

Her voice drowned into a whimper and then a groan of pain. Severus, despite his hatred of the witch, could sympathize with her agony. They'd all failed, and they would all be punished in some way or another tonight… even though it had been their master who had let the boy slip through his fingers.

"Severus provided you with the key to Potter's capture. Severus provided us with the means to kill the boy," he began to preach after Bellatrix had been thoroughly punished, "And yet, the boy _lives!_ "

"Not for lack of trying, my lord—"

Severus did not flinch when the dark lord sent the Cruciatus curse towards the fool who dared speak out against him. Yaxley, he believed it was… a cruel irony, considering their master now wielded his wand. Severus kept his head down, black eyes towards the ground.

Lord Voldemort hissed to the writhing, shitting, pissing mess of a wizard, as he trailed along the inner perimeter of the circle of his follower. The crowd was silent. No one dared admit that he had been, lest they share the blame with him.

"We had the opportunity— _I_ had him in _my_ grasp… and I would have succeeded in killing the boy, if Harry Potter were not surrounded by his _friends_. Friends which you were responsible with intercepting," He spat the words out like a curse, then slunk away from the circle of kneeling followers to the center, where stood the only other person who was un-masked and un-cloaked as he was, "Lucky for us, Order members have finally begun to drop like flies… _literally_. Isn't that right, Miss Delacour?"

The young woman lifted her head, finally revealing her face to the crowd.

Finally, Severus was able to look at her without appearing suspicious. Her hair was blond and it spilled over her shoulders and the generous, feminine curves of her breasts in silky waves. Despite the gash on her face, she maintained a beauty that other women would kill for: plump, naturally reddened lips, a slender, symmetrical nose, high cheek bones, a gentle chin, perfectly arched brows.

But her eyes, although big and blue, thick-lashed and wide as a child's, burned cold as she glared at the masked faces around her, refusing to look at the man who had killed her fiancé.

"Oh my. You must excuse my cruelty, _Mademoiselle_ ," Lord Voldemort did not bend to accommodate their vast differences in height, but lifted his wand to tilt her chin upward, forcing her to look at him, "It was your husband-to-be who fell to his death, wasn't it?"

Severus felt every bone in his body grow tense as the dark lord squeezed her face. Fleur did not whimper or cry, or show any emotion at all. She was occluding.

"Yes."

"My condolences," the dark lord crooned, stroking one long finger along her cheek, "What ever will you do now—certainly, the wedding will be called off, and his family… oh, his family will hate you for being unable to save him. Will they cast you onto the street?"

She met his gaze, but remained silent.

He grinned, slow, "Of course not, my dear… they're Weasleys, after all. They wouldn't dare cast aside the love of their son's life, even if she let him die to save herself. They will welcome you home with open arms, and together, you will plot your revenge against me with what remains of Dumbledore's Order. Won't you, Miss Delacour?"

Her eyes narrowed over at him, confused at his antics.

He lifted his wand, waved it back and forth, "That is… you might, if I allow you to return to them."

She lifted her chin, defiantly.

"Don't fret, Miss Delacour," she set her jaw as he trailed around her, then leaned in close, over her shoulder, "I assure you, there is no need for anyone else to die, tonight; unless, of course, you wish to join your lover in death?"

Severus wondered—would she? Would that have been a kinder fate?

The witch shook her head. He felt his stomach lessen in knots, by a fraction, at least.

The dark lord hissed with pleasure, "Ah, very good… you are shrewd enough to see the value of your life. That is an admirable trait to have, Miss Delacour. While Harry Potter might surround himself in witless heroes, I value other traits in my… friends."

Severus cursed inwardly.

He'd been the one to put Fleur in this position… it had been instinctual. When he'd seen Bill, he'd known—and he'd let his emotions get the better of him. He had tried to save them both, of course, but he had made a choice, in the end. And that choice was Fleur. It was a foolish endeavor. He'd barely prevented Lupin from being hexed in the back, had cursed George Weasley's ear off in the process…

But Potter had gotten away, unharmed, thanks to Bill's actions. Who knew what would have happened, otherwise. And Severus had spared Fleur... taken her captive. Perhaps he should have let her die—it might have been a kinder fate.

The dark lord released her forcefully, sending her backward with a flick of his wand. Fleur didn't even wince when he lifted his wand again, and stabbed it towards her.

" _Crucio._ "

She writhed, but did not scream. When it stopped, she shuddered a breath.

" _Crucio!_ "

This time, she screamed, and fell to her knees. When she looked up, she seemed to glow golden, ethereal, but in an instant, the dark lord had her suspended by the throat with a spell.

Severus' fists clenched at his sides.

"I said you needn't die," the dark lord chuckled as she clawed at her throat, "I didn't say you would not be punished."

Fleur was writhing now, her skin turned blue. Severus shifted, reached for his wand in his sleeve—

But the dark lord lifted the curse, and Fleur crumpled to the floor once more.

"Where is Potter?"

She rubbed her throat, and answered hoarsely, "You know where he is."

The dark lord narrowed his eyes at her, "What plans does he have?"

"I have no idea."

He lifted his wand again, " _Crucio!_ "

She screamed, that time. It echoed in the back of Severus' mind.

"Ah, ah, ah. I admire your effort, Miss Delacour, and in the midst of the Cruciatus, no less, but you are not as smart as you are beautiful. I am immune to the wiles of a full-blooded Veela, let alone one with as little of their blood as you."

The dark lord paused, gazing down at her as she clawed at her beautiful neck, which was turning black and blue from the pressure.

"And while I can and do admire your sense of self-preservation, Miss Delacour, I wouldn't trust a Veela, half or quarter-blooded, besides." Severus felt the blood drain from his face. While Fleur's attempt was admirable, she didn't understand the dark lord. She didn't know what this would cost her, "I tire of her... who will take responsibility for the girl's interrogation?"

He knew he had to act quickly—so many others, lustful, inbred fools would be willing to act. Before Avery or Nott or Goyle had gotten to their feet, he'd hexed them all, sending them careening forward and howling with pain. The dark lord seemed surprised when Severus stepped forward, sending slicing hexes at two more who dared stand. Their master was amused by the show, at least.

"Well, then, Severus. You are indeed the best man for the job… you did manage to secure Miss Delacour for us," he smiled low and dark, "Do be gentle with our new friend, however. She could be the key that leads us to Potter."

Severus did not wait, "Naturally, my lord."

He took Fleur's elbow and tugged her away from the circle.

·

Had she ever imagined this would be here?

Before she had even returned to Beauxbatons after the Triwizard Tournamnet, she'd made arrangements for employment and boarding in Britain. A week after the ceremony for graduation, she'd returned to London to take on a job with Gringotts, part-time, which would allow her to assist the Order in whatever capacity they required. And, although he had expressed his displeasure, she had settled into a cozy Muggle flat with financial help from her father. It served as a "come and go" safe-house for a time, while Dumbledore configured a use for her in his band of vigilantes.

In mere months after arriving, she'd begun to date William, the handsome, charming eldest Weasley. At first, she hadn't thought it would become as serious as it had. They'd been introduced at Hogwarts, of course, before the Third Task. And even though he had witnessed her shameful failure to become Champion, she'd hardly hesitated in approaching him when they crossed paths at Gringotts not a few months later.

 _Why not?_ She had thought to herself. What is a few drinks, a few nights, amongst comrades?

But William was smitten, and she was… well, she hadn't known she would be spending a voracious amount of time with another man who would, against all odds, steal her heart. Of course, he would go on to betray them all, but still—she couldn't help but wonder…

 _Focus, Fleur. Focus!_

She didn't know where her wand was. It was likely unsalvageable.

"Let go of me!"

"Be quiet."

She didn't need a wand to defend herself. She stopped abruptly, pulling as hard as she could to escape his grasp, winding her leg up for a good kick in his arse. But the man was strong, stronger than he looked, and he was prepared for her... and she was dizzy and week from the Cruciatus Curse. Snape easily restrained her with magic without even a wand, and she was without use of her arms, as they were bound behind her back. He took hold of her wrists and urged her forward, forcing her to walk through the darkened halls of… wherever they were.

" _Ne me touchez pas_ ," she hissed, even as her knees buckled.

"I will touch you when I like and how I like, Miss Delacour," he hissed towards her, "Now, you will be silent, or you will sorely regret it."

She opened her mouth to speak out against him, but found her voice could not be found. The lump in her throat was growing larger, more unmanageable.

What had she gotten herself into? And why, why did it have to be him?

She slumped forward, her knees giving out on her. Suddenly, she was being lifted into his arms, curled against his chest like a child. She resisted him only mildly, as she was beginning to lose function of her body. The tremors were starting. She cried, then, and prayed... prayed he would find mercy in his soul for her, as she had for him, not so long ago.


End file.
